Page 89 of Mayflower

“Yes,” Margot blurts, giving Kat, who is walking up to us, a side eye. “Well, she dragged me here.”

I smile at Kat, who puts her hand on Margot’s shoulder. “I knew she’d need help putting a mask on,” Kat says, and Margot shakes her off and rolls her eyes.

“How many are here?”

“Twenty-six,” Kat says. “One is on an IV in a patient room. One is being treated for severe burns. We took them all downstairs and put the N95 masks on during the attack. But I think one kid had an allergic reaction.”

“I’ll check on them,” I say, my eyes flitting around the crowded room that looks like a bomb shelter after a battle.

I haven’t been on the mainland during the bombings and the Change, but I can only imagine what the world went through.

And I don’t remember the last time I saw so many children in real life. They are all staring at us, munching hungrily on the snacks, downing water and juices and everything else they are handed. Candy and several other women are here, too.

A little boy, around six or seven, torn shorts, Superman shirt, barefoot, his feet dirty and cut up, walks up to us, his big hungry eyes on Kat’s hand. “Can we get more?”

She looks down at the juice box in her hand. “Yeah, buddy. Take this. I’ll give out chips in a moment.”

He takes it hesitantly, then looks at me, then Margot. “We did it right?”

We exchange confused glances.

“Did what right, sweetie?”

“They said we gon’ get food if we go and throw fire bottles. Is tha’ wha’ food for? We did well?”

My heart stills. I hear this continuous huffing sound next to me and see Margot staring at him, her jaw dropped as she takes deep inhales. Her eyes are filling up with tears until she blinks and they start falling down her cheeks.

I swallow hard. Kat meets my eyes, then turns to the kid. “You’ll never have to do that again, buddy. Go take a seat. We have plenty of food. Go rest. I’ll be right there.”

The kid stumbles away, and Kat and I both see Margot staring at the floor, her chest shaking. She quickly wipes her cheeks, drops to her knees beside the box, and starts pulling chips out of it right onto the floor.

The most devastating thing about war zones, so common and heartbreaking, is children growing up thinking violence, murder, and starvation are the norm. The most atrocious collateral of war is children. It takes a minute to teach a crime and years to teach what’s good.

We are all quiet for a moment, ashamed of what we are and what we did to these kids, though it wasn’t us, but we are all inevitably part of the system.

I look at Kat and nod to Margot, who still sniffles, hiding her face, as she aimlessly pulls packages of chips out of the box, making a mess.

Kat kneels beside her and gently places her hands on Margot’s, stopping her. “Let me take the box, and you will go in front of me and pull the packages out and hand them to the kids. We’ll start from the front.”

Margot nods fast, then wipes her cheek. “Sorry. I needed a minute.”

“Come on, pink witch. Time to do some good work. Though you are not used to it.”

“Piss off, Katura,” Margot says with a sniffle.

Kat only chuckles and winks at me. She’s trying to snap Margot out of the pity mode.

“You know,” Kat says as they walk to the front of the hall to start another round of food distribution, “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad you are here.”

“You high, Katura?” Margot pushes her pink hair out of her face.

“I wish. But looks like Bishop fucked the arrogance out of you.”

“I thought I’d follow in your steps and open my legs for opportunities.”

“You finally made a good choice.”

“Fuck you, Katura.”

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